The sun was high in the heavens by this time, the golden light brightening the little clearing and dissipating the gloom of the surrounding forest.  All suspicion that the murderer, or murderers, might still remain in the immediate neighborhood of their crime had entirely deserted my mind.  Where, and by what means, they had fled could not be determined, but I felt assured they were no longer near by, I had sought in vain for any other path than the one we had followed from the mouth of the creek, while the suggestion which Rene had advanced, that the steamer had tied up to the shore, permitting the raiding party to land, grew more and more plausible to my mind.  It scarcely seemed probable that one man alone, or even two men, had committed this crime, and the sole survivor disappear so completely with the prisoners.  I had turned each detail over and over in my thought, while I worked, yet to but little purpose.  The only present solution of the problem seemed to be our return to that hidden basin where our boat lay, and the remaining there in concealment until the darkness of another night rendered it safe to once more venture upon. the river.  Perhaps during those intervening hours, we might, by conferring together, decide our future course; some new thought might guide us in the right direction, or some occurrence drive us into definite action.

I spoke of this to her, as I finally approached where she rested on the stump, eager and glad to escape from all memories of that somber cabin I had just left.  She stood before me, listening quietly, her eyes lifting to my face, as though she sought to read there the exact meaning of my words.

“You—­you are no longer so confident,” she said, “your plan has failed?”

“I am afraid it has,” I admitted, “for it was based altogether on the assistance of Amos Shrunk.  He is no longer alive, and I do not know where to turn for guidance.  There would seem to be danger in every direction; the only question is—­in which way lies the least?”

“You begin to regret your attempt to aid me?”

“No,” impulsively.  “So far as that goes, I would do it all over again.  Your safety means more to me now than ever before—­you must believe that.”

“Why should I?  All I have brought you is trouble.  I can read in your face how discouraged you are.  You must not think I do not understand.  I do understand—­perfectly.  I can see how all this has happened.  You cannot really care.  What you have done has been only a response to impulse; merely undertaken through a spirit of adventure.  Then—­then why not let it end here, and—­Sam and I can go on to—­to whatever is before us?  It is nothing to you.”

“You actually believe I would consent to that?” I asked, in startled surprise at the vehemence of her words.  “That I could prove such a cur?”

“But why not?  It would not be a cowardly act at all.  I could not blame you, for I have no claim on your service—­never have had.  You have done a thousand times too much already; you have risked honor, reputation, and neglected duty to aid my escape; and—­and I am nothing to you—­can be nothing.”